“There, that’s enough, men!  Now make fast.  We can head the old girl out from here in a jiffy, if it really begins to blow.  Jose, you stand by at the wheel, in case you’re needed; some of the rest ship the capstan bars, and remain near for a call.”

Discipline on board must have been somewhat lax, or else Haines held some minor official position which gave him unusual privilege, for, while the others instantly separated to carry out these orders, he remained motionless, confronting the man I supposed to be the mulatto, LeVere.  My own position was such I could not press past the two without attracting attention.

“What are ye swingin’ the yards fer, enyhow?” asked the sailor insolently.  “Just fer exercise?”

The other, who already had started to turn away, stopped, and took a step backward toward his questioner.

“Because I am a sailor, Haines,” he replied angrily.  “Anyhow it is none of your business; I was left in command here.  Those clouds don’t look good to me; there is going to be a blow before morning.”

“Then it’s yer intention ter work out’er this yere berth?”

“It’s my intention to be ready, if it becomes necessary.  There is no regular officer left aboard, but, just the same, I am not going to let this bark pile up on those rocks yonder.  We’ll hang on here for another half hour, maybe, and then, if the long-boat don’t show up, we’ll work further off shore until daylight.  That’s sensible, isn’t it?”

Haines growled something, inaudible to me, but evidently accepted as an assent, and LeVere, still in no good humor from the questioning, wheeled sharply about to go forward.  This movement placed him face to face with me.

“What are you loafing here for?” he burst forth, no doubt glad to thus vent his anger on someone.  “Who the hell are you?”

“Joe Gates, sir,” I answered quickly, mouthing the first name which came to my lips.

“Gates—­Joe Gates?” peering savagely into my face, but unable to distinguish the features.  “I never heard of anybody on board by that name.  Who is the fellow, Haines?”

The Englishman gripped me by the sleeve to whirl me about, but as his fingers touched the soaked cloth of my jacket, he burst forth with an oath.

“By God! but he’s wet enough to be the same lad you chucked overboard an hour ago.  Damn me, I believe he is.  Say, mate, are you the gay buck we hauled aboard drunk, and dumped inter the for’cassel?”

“I dunno, sir,” I answered dumbly, believing it best not to remember too much.  “I couldn’t even tell yer whut ship this is, ner how I signed on.  Last I seem ter remember I wus ashore frum the schooner Caroline; but this yere is a bark.”

Haines laughed, already convinced of my identity, and considering it a good joke.